Billboard : 01/19/1957
Score of 78

An excellent, swinging, salable mainstream modern set, similar in content and appeal to the recent Dawn set which also featured Zoot Sims and Bob Brookmeyer. Jo Jones, Hank Jones and Bill Crow offer big assists and plus name value. Good programming of ump tunes, swingers and ballads. One dull spot is Sims’ vocal on I Can’t Get Started, (Don’t throw away your sax yet, man!). With distribution and promotion this could account for a good sales total.

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Christian Science Monitor
Melvin Maddocks : 01/22/1957

For anyone wanting to hear what a small “modern” jazz combination can do, the work of Bob Brookmeyer, valve trombone, and Zoot Sims, tenor saxophone, on a weirdly labeled disk, Whooeeee, may be thoroughly recommended. It is refreshingly free of the harmonic and rhythmic excesses and the all-sound-alike monotony which – it must be admitted – characterize a great deal of modern jazz.

The saxophone and trombone, as has been proven before, make a full-bodied sound together, practically amounting to a section in themselves. Mr. Brookmeyer and Mr. Sims introduce and conclude their themes on long, ingenious riffs, which, however, do not belong to the never-take-a-breath-if-you-can-help-it school of phrasing. The valve trombone is of particular value in avoiding the slurring glissandi much too usual with the sliding version of this instrument.

The solos are as vigorous and driving as a traditional jazz taste could ask for, with the subtleties and extended developments from themes that make the case for modern jazz. Two Al Cohn numbers, Snake Eyes and Box Cars, are particularly exuberant, while both musicians show themselves adaptable to quieter moods on a ballad medley highlighted by My Old Flame. A rhythm section, which includes Hank Jones on piano and Jo Jones on drums, adds finish and strength.

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High Fidelity
John S. Wilson : March, 1957

On paper, this lines up as one of the most stimulating of today’s small groups. It lives up to this promise in performance, and the only surprise is the way in which the steadily developing Bob Brookmeyer stands out even in such distinguished company. The life that he breathes into slow ballads (Lullaby of the Leaves and I Can’t Get Started) is nothing short of amazing, and he develops his liens with real imagination. Then, turning to the uptempo The King, he wades in with force and dexterity that are constant delights. Hank Jones, sparking a fine rhythm section, shows off several driving solos en route. Low man on this lofty totem pole is Zoot Sims, who plays with his expected strength and fluidity on fast numbers, but bogs down on ballads. He also makes the frightful mistake of singing, revealing a voice that sounds like Tex Beneke under a veil of Wheatena.

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Down Beat : 02/20/1957
Nat Hentoff : 4 stars

This is the third set co-featuring Brookmeyer and Sims. Like the Dawn album and the previous conversation on Storyville, the present conversation demonstrates not only the considerable solo jazz capacities of the two, but also their invigorating liking for each other’s musical company, leading thereby to bracing, skillfully casual interplay. The light, sensitive, swinging rhythm section is made up this time of Hank Jones, Bill Crow, and Jo Jones. Hank also solos frequently with his usual refreshing combination of clear, flowing articulation, swinging taste, and structural sense.

Zoot and Bob are both soloists who also don’t end with swinging. Both have individual voices with Zoot a mellow but muscular shouter, and Bob a thoughtful, inventive musician who also can let out when the setting calls for extroversion. Zoot sings in Started, an ill-advised foray. The originals, two by Al Cohn and one apiece by the co-leaders, are unassuming; and while good for freewheeling, are not likely to remembered apart from this record.

It’s a sound set, but now that they’ve done three like this, it might be interesting to hear Zoot and Bob together in more challenging material.

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Liner Notes by Cal Kolbe

Five years ago nobody could have identified Bob Brookmeyer as a poll-winning trombonist; he was playing piano with Tex Beneke then. In 1947, John Haley Sims was one of Four Brothers. The Hank Jones of 1953 was best known as Ella Fitzgerald‘s accompanist, and Bill Crow was with Claude Thornhill. Of the five participants in this 1956 recording date, only Jo Jones had been well known for a long period of time, and even at that, he was distinguished only to a limited group – a tight little island of aficionados in a sea of general indifference. Today, of course, the island has grown to nearly continental size, and names, terms, and sounds that were foreign to the American ear only a short time ago are now generally recognized, and frequently celebrated.

Jazz is moving out of the sphere of a secret fraternal order and into the more accessible area of public appraisal. Sales of jazz records are up, the popular magazines run occasional features on jazz personalities, film and television directors are utilizing jazz as background music. Even the State Department has recognized the international appeal of jazz as a good-will export. East coast, west coast, far-out and down home, jazz, as a commercial commodity, is hot. And like any other salable product, it is being exploited to the nines. The hucksters are up to their hip pockets in jazz, and the genuine article is not always their first concern.

Happily, however, not all jazz promoters are villains, and most musicians in jazz are not willing to sell themselves short. Brookmeyer and Sims are two cases in point. Without the aid of a bassoon, a cello, an ophicleide, or even a flute, they have managed to keep swinging in a legitimate jazz groove without vanishing into oblivion. Neither of them was an overnight smash. Both have served an appropriate and sometimes arduous apprenticeship in jazz. And they’re still building.

Track one, Side A of the present offering The King is a first-rate illustration of old fashioned jazz hot in modern dress: a Basie original done to a turn, the clean, uncluttered horn solos spice with zesty rhythms. There is no artificial flavoring added (hot gee, Mom, it sure is tasty!). On the ballads, like My Old Flame and Lullaby of the Leaves, there is no straining for effects, and no electronic nonsense. The fidelity is high, wide, and handsome, and this is not entirely due to the services of a gifted engineer. Each tune is treated with respect for its particular worth, and all are worth their very particular treatment. But a verbal rephrasing of what goes on here musically would be recklessly redundant. There is just one thing to keep in mind: there is jazz that is here to sell, and there is jazz that is here to stay. Make sure you get the real jazz.